You're Not Alone
by astha22
Summary: Draco is shattered after the war, wondering at his deeds. Hermoine, on the other hand, is sick of Ron's attention hogging and media frenzy. they return to Hogwarts as Head Boy and Girl, and sparks fly!
1. Chapter 1

_**AUTHOR'S NOTE: - Well, here is my first fan fic that does not follow cannon, and I am soooo uncomfortable about it. I want to keep writing one-shots, they are easier and well liked. This is what kept popping back in my mind! Hope you like this! It doesn't follow the epilogue in 'Deathly Hallows', but keeps in mind all the incidents before it.**_

_**CHAPTER 1- INVITED BACK…ALONE?**_

Hermione Granger yawned hugely as she walked into the Burrow's kitchen. She had reached here three days ago, when she had rehabilitated her parents with their proper memories back. The difficulty had been to convince them she wasn't a crazy stalker when they didn't remember her.

It had been a crazy time since Voldemort had been…vanquished. That was the word the papers were using. Hermione grimaced as she sat on the breakfast table beside Harry, remembering Fred's funeral. Gossip hungry reporters had gathered around Harry, calling him the Destroyer of Dark, and asking him questions about the killing of Lord Voldemort.

George had bodily thrown them out of the cemetery.

Harry stuck to the theory that Voldemort's wand had killed him, repressing the story of the Elder Wand. Heaven knew they didn't need that added to the gossip already circulating in the press.

It was Ron who was acting strangely.

Ron courted the press, strutting in the streets waiting for them to find him. He usually cut across Harry when he answered any questions about the Battle of Hogwarts. It was strange to see, that transformation from her boyfriend to someone who hardly cared about her. His latest problem had been his old-fashioned hair-cut, which he had solved by borrowing some money from Harry and getting a hair-cut in Diagon Alley.

She didn't know this proud, conceited man. Her Ron was lost.

She was lost.

"Hermione," Harry breathed in her ear. "You're muttering to yourself."

"Thinking about Ron," she replied. "Where is he?"

Ginny replied from her other side. "He went out early to talk to Shacklebolt in the Ministry."

"Why? What happened?"

"Nothing, actually. He just wants the press to know he's important. I hate the pompous little—Teddy, NO!"

The last word was shrieked into Hermione's ear, and she turned, rubbing her poor ear-drum, to see Teddy sitting in his high-chair with butter melting on his head, while he happily cooed, clutching his bottle.

Fleur laughed as she took the upended butter from Teddy's head. "Lookz like little Teddy wantz but-ter on hiz milk," she smiled and turned to George, perhaps anticipating a laugh.

None came. Harry believed that it was George, not Fred, who had died. He was taking Anti-Depressant Drafts till recently, and they had often caught him muttering things to Fred, telling him all that had happened that day, or simply telling him to 'have fun up there'. It had been disturbing, George hadn't said good-bye.

Last week, when Hermione had been looking for her parents in Australia, George had gone to the cemetery and sat for hours. Bill had kept a close watch on him, his heart breaking in a thousand pieces, lest George became a danger to himself.

But George had just cried, cried his heart out at last, allowing closure to his numbed heart, allowing pain to flow through his very veins. Pain, he said, made him real, made him alive, because pain was the curse of life. He had come home with the setting sun, and had announced that he was going to have interviews for shop-assistants for the WWW.

That was when everyone had breathed a sigh of relief.

But right now, everyone held their breaths, thinking of ways to break the awkward silence. George was staring moodily into his soup, he hadn't even heard Fleur.

The awkward silence was broken by a flurry of owl feathers, and four barn owls approached the window, official-looking thick envelopes tied to their feet. One landed before Harry, another before Hermione, and yet another in front of Ginny. The fourth hovered over the breakfast table, and then stopped before Mr. Weasley.

They were from Hogwarts.

All three of them opened the letters with trembling fingers. Harry disregarded the booklist for now, and read the letter accompanying it.

_**HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY**_

_Headmistress: MINERVA MCGONAGALL_

_(Order of Merlin, Second Class)_

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you are invited back to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment._

_Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Filius Flitwick,_

_Deputy Headmaster._

_**P.S.**__: - Harry, the headmistress told me to inform you that you are not being made the Head Boy as she does not want to burden you. It can still be arranged if you so want. Please reply as early as possible._

"I'm Head Girl!" Hermione squeaked. "Hogwarts is reopening, and we can all complete our…" she trailed off at the lack of reaction.

"But I can't go!" Harry and Ginny said at the same time. Harry continued, "What about Teddy?"

The baby in question looked up from his contemplation of Fleur's hair, then smiled at Harry's agitation.

"Don't be silly Harry," said Mrs. Weasley kindly. "We will take care of him for you. You go on and complete your education."

"I have apprenticeship in the Auror office from Monday! That's all the education I need! I don't need to go back, and I don't want to. I finished the celebrity part of my life…I won't be stared at like an animal in a zoo again." Harry's tone held a note of finality. "I won't."

"Besides," Ginny took over, "what of the house we just bought? I'm not going back."

"Listen here, Ginerva Weasley, you will—"

"I can't, Mum. I can't go back and walk the corridors where—" she stopped abruptly, glanced at George, who was looking at Hermione's Head Girl badge gloomily, and shut up.

Mrs. Weasley cleared her throat and bravely swallowed her tears before stating that they would all discuss the matter later.

"What matter?" Ron had chosen the moment to appear, his newly styled bright red locks bouncing around his face.

"Hogwarts is reopening," Hermione told him. "Harry and Ginny don't wanna go, so it's just gonna be—"

"They're right, of course," said Ron as he snagged a piece of bacon from Percy's plate. "Why do _we_ need to go back? I mean, we defeated Voldemort! What more will Hogwarts teach us that we don't know already?"

"You're not going too?" Hermione's face was aghast. Who was this man? She didn't know him at all. He looked more like…

"Gilderoy Lockhart's son," George answered her muttered thought as he passed her the toast. "Pompous little ass. I liked Percy better, at least he was original."

Hermione gave a weak chuckle.

Would she have to go back alone? She had to go back to Hogwarts, she simply had to _learn_. It was in her genes. Hermione Granger never left learning. How could she give up an offer to back to the school that had made her who she was.

It was time to finish what she had started seven years ago at Hogwarts.

She had to go…all alone.

_**AUTHOR'S NOTE: - Well, what do you think? Should I continue? I have already written another chapter, so please tell me if you don't like this. I will try to stop. Erm… and this one's a Dramoine (pairing of Draco & Hermione). **_


	2. Chapter 2

_**CHAPTER 2- ON THE TRAIN**_

Hermione wiped away a tear as she made her way through the first compartment of the train. The additional letter in her envelope had asked her to please be seated in the Head's Compartment, which was the second on the train.

She berated herself for crying over such a small matter. The entire Weasley family had accompanied Harry to say good-bye to her. What if Ron was busy elsewhere? It hardly mattered.

Didn't it?

She had had a bitter argument the day before, when she had asked Ron to come with her, trying to lure him with everything from teenage fan-following to newspaper mentions. But he hadn't listened.

Hermione was not a person to grovel in front of somebody. She had caught herself before she did just that, and…

_Oh God…What the hell have I done?_

She had told Ron to take a break. She had called off their relationship, stating she needed a desperate break from him, and that she was no longer sure of her own love for him.

Ron had looked like a bludger had just hit him in the head. Then he had retorted that there were many other fish in the pool to play with, sexier and more worthy women waiting for the new him than a bushy-haired know-it-all who didn't know how to kiss.

And he had crushed her heart into a million pieces.

Hermione sat down heavily in the empty compartment. Apparently the Head Boy was late.

_I'm not gonna think about Ron. I'm not beautiful, but I'm smart… and I'm well-liked. I…_

_He doesn't love me. I'm just…a bushy-haired know-it-all who doesn't know how to kiss._

Her back straightened as she wiped her eyes. No. This was not the answer. She had no business crying over the spoilt brat that called itself Ronald Weasley. If anything she should be happy to know his feelings about her before she did something silly, like moving in with him.

_There are many other fish in the pool to play with, sexier and more worthy women waiting for the new me…_

There was no one waiting in the holds for her. She felt so alone…

"Err…Granger? Mind shifting your feet?"

Hermione quickly shifted her feet from the opposite window-seat and turned to look at the Head Boy.

_MALFOY?_

Who in their right minds would make a former _death eater_ a _Head Boy_?

She opened her mouth to make the comment, but Malfoy spoke first.

"Speechless Granger? Why, that's new."

The sneer did not quite reach his eyes. Hermione swallowed her scathing reply long enough to really look at him. Malfoy's eyes looked haggard and hollowed-in, like he was losing a terrible amount of sleep. His chin was shadowed, and the sneer on his face looked like a grimace of pain.

In short, Malfoy looked seriously demented.

She couldn't find the venom in her to make any quirky comments about his appearance. Instead, she stood up and made her way to the door. "Excuse me. I need to talk to Professor… To any teacher."

"Right," he just slumped into the chair opposite hers.

Hermione hurried through the train, looking for any teacher who might be on the train. Her mind was whirling. What the hell was happening anyway with Malfoy? How come he looked so…frenzied?

_The entire school will think he is the enemy. And he has to face all that alone._

Hermione actually shuddered when she thought about the treatment the new Head Boy was going to get. Poor Malfoy. Nobody should be friendless and attacked like that, not even him.

She found Professor Horace Slughorn in Compartment C, talking to Madam Pomfrey.

She knocked on the glass door, and entered when Slughorn beckoned her in.

"Ah, Miss Granger! What a surprise! Oh course, I was about to ask you to join me for lunch soon… is something the matter?"

"Err…"

"I would like to talk to you Miss Granger," said Madam Pomfrey. "If you would please step out?"

Once outside, Madam Pomfrey told Hermione, "I am sure you want to talk about the Head Boy. Am I right?"

"Yes. He is a—"

"Was, Miss Granger. He was the first person to turn up at the Ministry the night after the War ended. That boy has spent the last month and a half in St. Mungos', fighting acute depression and self-depreciatory thought-processes. He hates himself, and thinks the others do too. Will you be the first student to prove him right? Professor Dumbledore and Professor Snape asked Professor McGonagall to give him a chance. Don't take it away. Please."

"I—"

Hermione stopped. Hadn't she said in every interview that she wished people should let bygones be bygones? Was she worse than the people she had lectured? Would she rob Malfoy of the only chance he had to redeem himself in his own eyes?

"How can I help?"

"You're a kind girl. Follow your instincts. You will live with him in the Head's Dorm, and so your help and support will matter to him."

Hermione walked back to the Head's compartment, a bit dazed by the recent turn of events. Malfoy was on _medication_? He had lived at St. Mungo's?

Hermione slid quietly back into the seat she had vacated before. Malfoy was staring at her, ready for her sarcasm.

"Err… Hi. Draco."

He stared. It was a full minute before Malfoy moved. He turned his head towards the window, not meeting her eyes.

"Hi."

"Fresh start?"

Malfoy—Draco—looked at her outstretched hand like it was an alien entity.

Then he took it.

_**AUTHOR'S NOTE: -this one looks kind of short. Sorry. Should I continue? Give me a review and tell me please! This one's a lot bigger too, probably a short novel, and I have told you before, I have a phobia of writing BIG pieces. So please boost my confidence with a review ;)**_


	3. Chapter 3

_**CHAPTER 3- THE FEAST**_

_**Author's note: - I am so sorry it took forever to update! My computer crashed, you know. **___

_**Anyway, here is what I could write up again.**_

There was an awkward silence after the handshake, because none knew how to begin an actual talk. It was at least five minutes before Hermione spoke.

"Do you…uh…read?"

"Sure," came the reply. Did Draco sound relieved they were actually talking? "I like books."

"So? What is your current read?"

"It's a muggle book," came the sheepish reply. "A farewell to arms, by Earnest Hemingway." He was not looking at her, but scratching Crookshanks, who was purring in ecstasy.

Hermione was pleasantly surprised. Neither Harry nor Ron liked to read books. Even Ginny was in their league ever since the incident with the dairy in her first year. For them, reading a novel was the same as reading a textbook. Draco here liked them. It was a nice change.

They talked safely of books after that, everything from classics to horror to thriller to mystery to adventure. By unspoken agreement, they left out romance novels. They were not comfy enough yet to discuss those. They laughed, fought, argued and threatened for a little less than two hours, then stopped when the heard the very familiar rattle.

"Anything off the trolleys?"

Hermione thought that was a very silly question. The obvious answer was _of course!_ But, as it was routine, she did not say a thing. Instead, she bought a pumpkin pasty, a cauldron cake and two chocolate frogs, and then waited patiently as Draco bought his lunch.

"So, why aren't any of your friends here?" Draco asked. "Where are Potter and that Weasley?"

"Harry's got Teddy to look after, and so does Ginny. Ron…"

"Is out hogging the lime-light. I read the papers."

"Where are _your_ friends?" Draco's comment had hurt, specially because it was true.

Draco shrugged. "Italy, Spain, Germany, mostly Egypt."

"Britain not safe anymore, is it?"

"Yeah. Dad said he would make me eat my own balls if I didn't complete my education now."

"Bet that really helped you decide."

Draco colored as he realized what he had said. Funny, she had never seen him color before. He gave a real nervous laugh and ran his fingers through his hair. "Pretend you didn't hear that."

"But I did!" she teased mercilessly.

The Head Boy let out a cry of frustration, but was interrupted by the entry of the House Prefects. There were six.

No Slytherin?

"Err…" It was Dennis Creevey, the Gryffindor prefect. "We're supposed to tell the Heads that they will accompany Madam Pomfrey to the castle and talk to the Headmistress before going to the feast."

Hermione saw Draco squirm. It was not a hidden fact that Dennis' brother had died in the siege the year before. It must really be uncomfortable for him, facing Dennis now.

As Draco was unaware of what exactly to tell the Prefects, Hermione took the lead. She told them to just patrol the corridors for now, and stop anyone who was behaving in an objectionable manner.

"That's all you have to do right now, and later you will have to herd the first years off the train. All right?"

"Do we keep patrolling till we reach Hogwarts?" Natalie McDonald asked.

"Hell, no! Just keep taking a few rounds once in a while."

The Prefects left, and Hermione turned to Draco. "Where are the Slytherin Prefects?"

"Dunno, and do I look like I care?"

Hermione fished out a book, and waved it slightly. "You mind?"

"Not at all. Go ahead."

So Hermione began to read in the companionable silence. She did not know what was happening here, or why she was being so friendly, but Draco looked different. He was behaving differently with her, and so she was just returning a favor.

She missed Harry and Ron though. It was too ingrained, that sense of togetherness in their compartment. This Head's compartment felt alien.

It felt lonely.

Hermione's thought process came to an abrupt halt when she noticed a piece of parchment sticking out of her favorite book. When she took it out, it turned out to be a part of the lyrics of one of her favorite songs by the muggle King of Pop. She remembered copying these down on her first ever piece of parchment. She smiled as she read the childish handwriting.

_Another day has gone…_

_I'm still all alone._

_How could this be?_

_You're not here with me._

_Never said good-bye,_

_Someone tell me why?_

_Did you have to go?_

_And leave my world so cold?_

Draco looked at Hermione, certain that she wasn't even aware she was crying. Big pearly drops of tears wet those long lashes, but she shed no tears. He knew she was crying for that weasel, and made no comment. He saw her realize her tears, and she gained his respect when she swiped at them angrily. A woman who was pissed at herself for crying over a worthless bag of shit deserved it.

Wait a bloody minute. When had _he_ started _respecting_ Hermione Granger?

"We will arrive soon," she informed him, her nose stuck to the window pane. "I am going to put on my robes now."

Draco, who was already wearing his school uniform, nodded. Hermione charmed her trunk from the luggage rack, put on her new robes, and sat down again.

Now there was nothing to talk about.

Fortunately, they were interrupted by Madam Pomfrey, who somehow looked pleased—and astonished, I might add—at not witnessing a duel in the Head's Compartment.

"Come along then," she said brightly. Was she being over-bright for Malfoy's sake?

They landed onto the slippery platform in Hogsmeade, and made their way to one of the carriages. All of them could see the Thestrals now. Every over-age witch or wizard in Hogwarts had witnessed death recently.

As the carriage trundled toward a pair of magnificent wrought iron gates, flanked with stone columns topped with winged boars, Hermione could not help but notice all the dirty glances the other students sent towards Draco Malfoy. It was like an ugly twist of fate, as every Hogwarts student sneered openly at the Slytherin.

They reached the gates, and waited patiently while Madam Pomfrey opened the gates with a complicated incantation. Then they walked across the grounds very quickly, walking into the Entrance Hall minutes later.

"What is that, Madam Pomfrey?" Hermione nodded her chin towards a new door that was in the side of the newly renovated Hall.

"A gallery, dedicated to the Warriors of the War," came the reply. "You are welcome to take a look after you have visited the Headmistress. After the Feast, Professor Flitwick, who is busy with the Sorting right now, will take you to the Heads' Dorm."

"Are you honestly going to make two teenagers, with teenage hormones, live _alone_ in a dorm without adult supervision?" Draco asked incredulously.

"We expect you to be responsible. And, you have two _separate_ rooms, although there is one bathroom."

Both of them refrained from a scathing comment.

By this time, they had reached the gargoyle that hid the enterance to the Headmistress' office.

"_Fawkes_," said the Medi-witch, and the Gargoyle leapt to the side, revealing the revolving staircase. They climbed in silence up to the old oak door with the griffin knocker, and Madam Pomfrey knocked.

"Enter," said the new Headmistress from inside.

_**Author's Note: - Well, here you are. Up next: The feast is hell! And so is the night!**_


	4. Chapter 4

_**CHAPTER 4- THE FEAST…AND NIGHT**_

They entered the office, finding it almost the same as it had been before the War. It was a large and beautiful circular room, full of funny little noises. A number of curious silver instruments stood on spindle legged tables, whirring and emitting little puffs of smoke. The walls were covered with portraits of old headmasters and headmistresses, all of whom—including Professor Dumbledore and Professor Snape—were snoozing gently in their frames. There was also an enormous, claw-footed desk, and, sitting behind it was Professor McGonagall.

"Good evening, Professor." Both Draco and Hermione said at the same time.

"Good evening," McGonagall gave a little smile. "I know you must be very hungry and dying to get down to the feast"—Draco made a strangled sound but said nothing at this—"but I have to update you on your duties for the school."

"Here is the list of duties," she said, handing them each a piece of parchment. "It is tentative, of course. You will be updated on the changes. They are mostly things you would have guessed you would be asked to do. The exception is the Rejoice Dance. It is, of course, a new entry, and is pretty much the brainchild of Albus here," McGonagall waved a hand at the snoozing professor. "As you can easily guess, it is to commemorate the spirit of the fighters during the Battle of Hogwarts, and is to be held on the last day of the school year. Am I understood?"

"Yes, Professor."

"What you have to do is, tell me your ideas on the decorations and management of the event. I do not want you storming up to my office at the drop of a hat, but what you will do is note down your ideas and tell me later what you think once in a while. Am I clear?"

"Yes, Professor."

"Crystal, Professor."

"Now that we have that clear... Mister Malfoy, will you please step out? I have to talk to Miss Granger about her extra duties as Head Girl."

Draco looked extremely wary. Even Hermione looked sceptical of her 'extra duties'. Was she going to talk about Malfoy?

Sure enough, when Draco left moodily, Professor McGonagall started without preamble.

"Mr. Malfoy was threatened last year with physical harm to him and his family if he failed to murder Professor Dumbledore," her eyes automatically went to the portrait, which Hermione noticed was no longer sleeping. Albus Dumbledore was awake and alert in his frame.

"He enjoyed the attention and importance gifted to him at first, as any normal teenager would," continued the Headmistress. "But...soon enough, he became nervous. Draco Malfoy is not an evil murderer; he is a converted Death-eater. Pomona? Would you like to continue?"

"Draco is suffering from acute depression and self-depreciatory thoughts. He, in short, has begun to believe that he has turned evil and has no right to live. The poor child has tried to kill himself thrice in the past month."

Hermione was aghast. She suddenly realized her mouth was hanging open, and promptly closed it. Swallowing the torrent of unintelligible words at the tip of her tongue, she said, "How can I help?"

"You are to live in close proximity with him," said Professor Snape's portrait. "We just want you to keep an eye on him. And please don't foam at the mouth every time you see him."

That sent Hermione's back up. "I'm not Weasley, Professor Snape!"

Snape's black eyebrow rose when he registered the use of Ronald's surname.

Wisely, he refrained from commenting on it.

"You may leave now. Go down to the feast."

Hermione turned and walked out of the oak door with the griffin knocker. The stairs took her down this time, and she appeared out of the Gargoyle to Draco's side. She did not say anything to him about her 'extra duties' at all. She knew she wasn't meant to.

The feast was almost over by the time they reached the Great Hall. Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey were already seated on the Teachers' Table, which meant they had used a secret passage.

But that was not what made Hermione stand and stare.

The Slytherin table was empty.

Hermione opened her mouth, with no actual clue of what to say, but Draco had already moved to the empty table laid for more than a hundred students.

She did not know the words to say to him, so she made her way to the opposite end of the Hall instead, and sat down next to Parvati Patil. Her eyes never left the back of Draco's head.

"Do you know why there are no Slytherins here?"

The gossiper shrugged. "Most of them were rotten. And the rest...Well, scared shitless of their welcome, I'd wager. Malfoy has some guts, showing up like this. The nerve of him! After he tried to kill Professor Dumbledore."

The angry retort at the tip of Hermione's tongue never saw the light of day. Instead, her head whipped around as someone from the Ravenclaw table yelled, "Go back to your hell-hole, you Death Eater! We don't need killers anymore."

Hermione looked over at Malfoy. And what she saw tugged at her heart.

Draco was not looking angry, or disgusted. He wasn't even looking sad.

He was looking over at the Ravenclaw table with an expression that said, 'I know I deserve this'.

Hermione Granger had lived most of her life as a bushy-haired girl with braces on her teeth. She knew first-hand how it felt to be thoroughly sure that you were no good. But she had fought to make herself a brainier, a smart know-it-all, because that was the only way she could be desirable to anyone. Draco here was taking no such initiative. He was wallowing, in fact.

Right. The nerve of him!

She would teach him how to stand up for himself.

She would stand up for him.

Hermione took a deep breath, and, as Professor McGonagall finished a speech she hadn't even heard, she walked over to Malfoy's table.

And sat down opposite him.

At the Slytherin table.

Phew! Talk about taking a stand.

Draco looked...bamboozled, if that was a word. He raked a hand through his messy blonde hair, then smiled at her. There was hope and gratitude in that smile.

Hermione didn't need words. She had felt the same way when she had made her first friends...Harry and-Ginny.

Draco carefully avoided looking anywhere near the other students, and ate his food at top speed. It was crazy, his urge to just disappear off the face of the Earth. McGonagall had explained to him last month that the crack-pot old fool had staged his own murder, and that he wasn't responsible. But how wasn't he responsible? He had turned into a devil, actually basking in the attention the Dark Lord had 'bestowed' upon him. He had gloated, hadn't he? He had actually looked forward to killing his Headmaster, and joining the Dark Lord's forces with complete effect. He was a killer. If not in deed, then in thought.

"No."

Draco jerked when he realized he had been muttering, and turned those dead grey eyes to Hermione. "What?"

"There's a difference, Draco. You are feeling like dirt because you were tempted by the Dark. Trust me, I know. It's seductive. But you are repenting what you did, and that means you never actually were a Death-Eater at heart."

"I..."

"Get away from him, Granger!" someone yelled again. It was a girl this time. "It's contagious."

There were loud guffaws of laughter from around the Hall, while the teachers tried to restore calm. They did not succeed.

"Why don't they give you a chance?"

"They know a devil when they see one."

Now he was starting to irritate her. "Get up."

"What?"

"We'll tell Kreacher to bring something to our dorms. Get up. Let's settle in."

They trudged to the Heads dorms in silence, following Professor Flitwick, who had previously been busy with the Sorting. The Head dorms were in one of the numerous towers of Hogwarts, and were hidden behind a portrait of a beautiful unicorn herd frolicking peacefully in a sun-kissed glen.

"_Discipline_," squeaked Professor Flitwick. "You can change your passwords later, of course. Well then, good night. And you will find your rooms easily enough. They have your portraits on them."

He turned and left as the portrait swung forward revealing a brilliant common room. It was almost same to the Gryffindor common-room Hermione was so used to. All of the furniture was squishy and looked heavenly comfortable. There were bookshelves upon bookshelves, and numerous tables ideal for studying. There was a large fireplace one corner where fire embers already danced and licked the air.

"Wow." Hermione uttered under her breath, looking utterly shocked and amazed.

"Tell me about it." Draco added.

There were two paintings hanging side by side, one of each of them. It was incredibly eerie to tell you the truth. They were really big, and awkward, making both of them notice non-existent problems in their make-up. All around the portraits of the new Heads were smaller about 8x10 headshots of all the previous head boys and girls. The boys were near Draco's and the girls near Hermione's. And beneath each and everyone was a little plaque saying the name, house and graduating year.

"I bet these portraits of us-" Hermione began.

"Which are ridiculously creepy, by the way." Draco inputted.

"Yeah, I know. But I bet they lead to our rooms." And with that, she turned and walked the few steps to her own portrait.

The picture Hermione spoke up and asked "How old were you when you showed your first signs of magic?"

"Oh, I understand." she said, brightening up. "They ask you a question only you or someone who knew you really well could answer, instead of a password!" She looked excited.

"Five."

The portrait swung open. Hermione turned to Draco. "Err...good night then."

"Night," he nodded.

Hermione shrugged and went into the room, but not before she heard Draco the portrait ask, "What is your favourite colour?"

Hermione woke up in the middle of the night when a horrific scream penetrated her subconscious mind.

At once the horrifyingly clear images of the Battle began to push into her memory, making her whimper. He was back. He was going to kill her, and Harry, and everyone else.

Then the fact that Voldemort had died by his own hand penetrated Hermione's fog of fear, and she scrambled out of bed. She did not recognize the horribly scared voice, but she knew it could only be Draco. She had to help him.

The portrait would not let her in. "Who is Draco's least favourite aunt?"

"Err... Look, my mind is really not working right now, and he's yelling in there! _Just let me in!_"

"Who is Draco's least favourite aunt?"

"Huh. Err... Bellatrix...Um...Lestrange?"

"Correct."

And, thankfully, the portrait opened up.

Draco lay in the bed, the sheets a tangled mess around his legs. He was muttering feverishly, and whimpering pitifully. Hermione rushed to his side, and was shocked to find him drenched in cold sweat. Unsure of what to do, she called out his name.

He did not answer.

She shook him, and squawked when his eyes opened. The gray depths were disconcerting, and horribly unfocused. He grabbed at her, making her scream in fear—what was he doing?

Then he began to cry.

The sobs racked his entire body as he muttered, "He will kill them... help! No, no...Of course, yes! I will do it My Lord! _I will kill him! _Don't...no...Not my family. Please, no! Don't kill them! My family! My..."

Hermione shushed him, desperately trying to soothe him, like she would try to soothe a frightened pup. She noticed he was rubbing his left fore-arm repeatedly, scratching out his invisible Dark Mark.

He cried for a little time more, and then subsided. Realizing he was suffocating Hermione Granger, of all people, he yanked up the covers.

"Are you okay?" Hermione asked timidly. "Do you need a Calming Drought?"

"I am fine, thank you. Can you please leave me alone now?"

Draco looked pale, ghastly, but Hermione knew what a blow it can be to a person's pride to cry in front of anyone.

So she left, going to her own bed, and trying unsuccessfully to fall asleep.

She wondered if she had bitten off more than she could chew.

_**Author's Note: - So? Do you **__**think Hermione has bitten off more than she can chew? Tell me in a review**____**  
**_


	5. Chapter 5

_**CHAPTER 5- DEALING WITH IT**_

Early the next morning, Draco left his dorm long before Hermione could even take out her toothbrush. She shrugged, wondering what the hurry was. Hermione used the empty bathroom, and, as usual, tidied up after herself. She stopped humming, 'you're not alone' as she realized that some subconscious memory was trying to find its way to the top of her head. She frowned, trying hard to remember.

Then the events of last night hit her like a brick.

_Shit._

She started running frantically, her tie trailing from her left hand, her hair sleep-mussed, and her feet unshod.

What had he done? Was he up on the Astronomy towers? Was he trying to kill himself? Stupid, stupid man! What should she do? How…how would she search for him in a castle so _bloody_ enormous?

"Miss Granger?" It was Professor Slughorn. Hermione stopped impatiently. "Why are you not getting ready for class?"

"Professor…I cannot find Draco. I… Have you seen him?"

"Of course! The lad is in the Entrance Hall, Miss Granger. I suggest you talk out your disagreement with him," he gave her a conspiratorial wink, and ambled down the corridor again, the way he had come.

Hermione rolled her eyes as she went down to the Entrance Hall. Trust Slughorn to jump to conclusions. He was such a…

Hermione's thought process came to a skidding halt when she noticed Draco was not in the Entrance Hall. _Damn it!_

She found him when she opened the door to the Warrior's Gallery.

The Gallery was a wide corridor crowded artistically with artifacts, which were done in metals that caught the light from the crystal chandelier overhead, reflecting pretty patterns off the crème walls.

Her footsteps were swallowed by the rose-colored carpet as she walked to Draco, who was standing facing a stern-looking sculpture of Professor Snape done in bronze.

His smooth blonde hair was tamed now, she saw with relief. He was dressed and ready for class, which was not something to be said about her. Her over-active imagination had run away with her. She couldn't help her urge to help someone in need—it went against her grain.

So Hermione walked up to the silent Head Boy, and stopped abruptly when she saw the tears dripping down his pale cheeks. He was crying silently.

Draco sensed Hermione beside him, and turned suddenly so his face was out of her view. "Go away, mudblood. I don't need help."

Somehow that weak attempt at dignity broke her heart. She remembered how she had felt when Harry had seen her crying behind a pillar at the King's Cross. "Fine. Do you want me to go?"

"_Yes!_"

"Then tell me what you're thinking."

"It's _none_ of your bloody business!"

"Then I am not leaving."

"You stubborn, pompous…"

"Try buck-teeth. Or Beaver. Or my favorite—freaky Frankenstein."

He evidently had no reply to that one. He just turned back to the life-size sculpture.

"Why couldn't I be brave enough like him?" he muttered after a few minutes of silence. "He defied Lord Voldemort for most of his adult life, and I couldn't even…"

"He had no family," Hermione explained in a reasonable tone. "If he had to think about the welfare of his family like you, he wouldn't have had the guts to defy old Smelly-fart."

Malfoy gave a very weak chuckle, and then subsided into a melancholy brooding.

"Need something to dispel the despair?"

"Hit me with it."

"Slughorn thinks we have had a lovers' tiff."

He stared at her incredulously for a full three minutes, then smiled brilliantly. Hermione felt an odd sense of accomplishment at the mile-wide grin.

"He doesn't."

"Trust me on this one," she insisted. "Now come _on_, before we are late!"

Hermione did not notice, but Draco did.

Hermione was holding his hand.

Hermione condemned the school governors to the fiery depths of eternal hell.

The nerve of them! Making History of Magic compulsory for all years! What the heck were they thinking?

Learning from past mistakes, her bloody arse!

Then she would murder Flitwick for her double History class on every bleeding Monday morning.

She blinked, trying extremely hard to concentrate on the droning monologue of Professor Binns about the situations that led to the Battle of Hogwarts. As if _he _knew the half of it.

The rest of the seventh-year (all the houses had all their classes together since they were in such small numbers) class was enjoying the balmy sunshine with a power nap, clustering their desks near the open windows.

Draco was dozing on the only desk left in the middle of the room (hers was in the front, of _course_), a slight frown marring that pale forehead. His eyes were darting continuously under his eyelids.

Hermione wondered what he was dreaming about. Was it another nightmare?

Zacharias Smith, a Hufflepuff In their year, threw a parchment ball at Draco. She saw him jerk awake, and then read the crumpled piece of parchment. His eyes, unfocused and sleepy at first, changed to a glazed dead color. He looked…defeated again.

Hermione did not know what had happened, or what that ass had written. All she knew was that she hated the Hufflepuff from then on.

Draco did not look at anyone. He simply stared at the paper.

Hermione saw his eyes brim. The waterworks began, and Hermione, who knew the old Draco never cried till incredibly motivated, was moved to action.

She stood up, which caused a little stir in the mostly dozing class. Professor Binns, true to his reputation, did not even glance up from his ghostly notes. He just droned on.

"Come on," she said, tugging at his hand. "You don't need this right now."

Draco let her tug him out of the class, while he tried unsuccessfully to wipe his tears inconspicuously on his robe. "Where…Where the fuck are you taking me? I don't need you. How come you are bunking a class anyway, huh?"

She ignored his weak insults and tugs. She was responsible for his mental health, and his well-being. And she was—as anyone would tell you—a very responsible girl. Nobody messed with her ward. Nobody.

After the War, Hermione had volunteered in St. Mungo's for a short duration. That was when she had seriously thought about being a Healer for the first time. So she was now studying towards it. She had vowed that whenever she found herself with free time on her hands, she would help out in the Hospital Wing.

Here she was, starting her apprenticeship by dragging a mental patient out to the Black Lake.

"What?" He sneered, trying to regain a dignified position when she plopped him down next to her under her favourite oak tree.

"What did it say?"

"It's none of your goddamn—"

"Yes, it is. I help my friends, Draco, and you are my only friend out here. So, unfortunately for you, that means I will badger you to death till you learn to accept my help."

He mutely gazed at her. She was his only friend too.

Then he mutely passed her the parchment.

It was a pretty bad caricature of Draco, complete with a Devil's horns, tail, and trident. He was grinning, showing a couple of fangs. The eyes were blots of red ink.

The caption said:_ Your next Voldemort! Vote for Smelly-fart today!_

Exactly the thing the blonde man feared—becoming the Devil.

"You listen to me, Draco. _Look at me!_" he snapped out of his melancholy rambling and looked at Hermione. "Did Voldemort"—he flinched at the name—"ever show any remorse for what he had done, or what he had become?"

"No."

"That is what makes you different, Draco. That's what stops you from becoming this," she glanced at the cartoon again. "The staff has put a lot of faith in you by not only calling you back but also making you a Head Boy. And you're letting them down."

"I am?"

"What are you doing here, other than proving them wrong by turning into a tap every time someone talks about the past? What are you, three?" It wrenched her heart to see the stunned shame in him, but she steeled her heart, like she would do with an adorable baby. He needed to understand.

"I don't want to," he muttered to the grass near his knee.

"Look at me when you talk to me, Draco. Trust me… we will deal with it."

"We will?"

"Since you are a royal fuck-up by yourself, we will deal with it together. Understood?"

"I like the idea of that. Together."

_**AUTHOR'S NOTE: - Do you think Hermione being this helpful on the first day is a bit uncharacteristic? I am sorry if you think so. Honestly, folks, I am not so confident about this one. PLEASE BOOST MY CONFIDENCE WITH A REVIEW! PLEASE. I ain't joking. And… oh yeah. I am going out of town on the 6**__**th**__**, but I will try to complete YANA before I go. I have the story plot in hand now, which is good.**_

_**Those of you who want to ask me where the fuck I was when I should have been completing my YANA, check out my first ever proper song-fic, 'She Hates Me'. And while you're checking it out, leave me a review :P**_

_**Please give me a review on this one though. I am seriously unsure of this one. THANK YOU TO ALL THOSE WHO HAVE ALREADY R&Red. I WENT AND GOT A LOT OF BOOKS YOU LOT HAVE WRITTEN. You are all awesome writers. And I like your pen-name a lot, Purple Painted Toensils. Are you going to change it after your next manicure? :-P**_

_**Sorry, I am gonna stop rambling about all my (sweety-choo, coochie-coo, wonderfully awesome, sweet, cute, nice, sugary) reviewers now:):):):):):):)**_


	6. Chapter 6

_**CHAPTER 6- IT GETS BETTER**_

They honestly dealt with it.

Hermione found a very good plan to stop the melancholy mutterings Draco was so prone to. She kept him busy. Seeing as it was NEWT year, it was not an impossible feat. They did not bunk any other class. Homework was horribly touching the ceiling, a fact that Draco whined about at every opportunity. It was good to see, the normalcy of a teenager. Truth be told, the haunted look was slowly escaping his eyes.

They patrolled the corridors every Friday night. Nothing out the ordinary occurred—the same old students out of bed after lights-out, couples kissing in the dark corridors (the best couple by far was Zacharias Smith kissing Cormac Mclaggen—they were never going to outlive _that_!).

Filch hobbled around the corridors at night too, trying to find any student he could hang in the dungeons by the thumbs, like he had done last year. Draco had once disillusioned himself and kicked his pesky cat. She still limped a bit, and Hermione had learnt an important lesson: never pick a fight with a wizard who has muscles toned by Quidditch.

Draco's horrible nightmares were making fewer appearances, at which time Hermione routinely gave him a glass of milk to drink. _He_ didn't need to know it had his Anti-Depressant Draft and Calming Drought in it.

Of _course_ she had cleared it with Madam Pomfrey. What kind of an apprentice do you think she was?

"What are you doing?"

It was a week and a half before the winter holidays. Hermione had hogged the seat nearest the fire after a small wrestling match, and was scribbling steadfastly on a parchment the size of the Nile.

Hermione looked up from the letter she was writing. "Writing to Ginny and Harry."

She thought he controlled his grimace wonderfully.

"Will you tell him about…us?"

Hermione smiled at his discomfort. "We are not sleeping together, Draco." Her smile widened at the shock on his face. "What? I am just gonna tell them what's going on here. And don't worry; I will still be friends if they disagree with my new improved views of you."

"And what are those? That I am totally kissable?"

"You wish." She laughed, rolling her eyes. He smiled too. Hermione had decided week before last that she liked watching Draco smile. It made his eyes turn from grey to silver. "Well… I think you would not be that bad as a boyfriend."

"_Please_," he began sarcastically. "You're making me blush. _Stop!_"

Draco cursed as Crookshanks settled on his lap. "I'm pretty sure he isn't used to males."

Hermione laughed.

"What are you doing, anyway?"

" Besides wondering if I will ever be able to have children? Writing to my father."

Hermione bit her lip. "You think he will like you to be friends with a mud—"

"I don't care if you are muggle-born Hermione. Not any more. And as far as I know, neither does my father. And…We are not sleeping together, Hermione."

Hermione liked the fact that Draco hadn't given her a stupid, silly name. her name sounded perfect in his cultural tones. Lately, Harry, Ginny and _that_ Weasley had taken to calling her 'Moine', which was slightly irritating. At least they had yet to surpass Grawp's 'Hermy'.

Praise the Lord.

Thinking of Grawp…

"Hagrid's invited us to his cottage for tea tomorrow."

"I—"

"—Will accept the offer graciously and politely, and try my best to make amends with the man I always called the Great Oaf."

Draco looked sheepish. "Well, he is a—"

"What happened to the new improved Draco?"

"He's out for lunch."

"Shut up and write."

"You too."

Unfortunately for Draco, they did go to Hagrid's house—cottage?—the next day.

At five to four on the sunny Saturday afternoon, they left the castle and made their way across the grounds. A crossbow and a pair of galoshes were outside the front door.

When Hermione knocked they heard a frantic scrabbling from inside and several booming barks. Then Hagrid's voice rang out, saying, "Back, Fang—back."

Hagrid's big, hairy face appeared in the crack as he pulled the door open.

"Hang on," he said. "Back, Fang."

"It's just a silly dog, Draco," admonished Hermione lightly as Draco made to flee. Of course she grabbed his arm.

Hagrid let them in, struggling to keep a hold on the collar of the enormous black boarhound.

There was only one room inside. Hams and pheasants were hanging from the ceiling, a copper kettle was boiling on the open fire, and in the corner stood a massive bed with a patchwork quilt over it.

"Make yerselves at home," said Hagrid, letting go of Fang, who bounded straight at Draco and started licking his ears. Like Hagrid, Fang was clearly not as fierce as he looked.

"Say hello, Draco. Of course you know him from school," Hermione told Hagrid, who was pouring boiling water into a large teapot and putting rock cakes onto a plate.

"Another Malfoy, eh?" said Hagrid, glancing at Draco's blonde locks. "I never spent any time with any of you. Lucky me."

"I'm sorry," said Draco. He shrunk a bit under Hermione's glare, then added, "for…everything."

Hagrid was stunned speechless for a minute. Then he offered the plate of rock cakes. "Have a cake, Draco?"

The rock cakes were shapeless lumps with raisins that almost broke their teeth, but Hermione and Draco pretended to be enjoying them as they told Hagrid all about their boring History lessons. Fang rested his head on Draco's knee and drooled all over his robes.

Draco wondered whether he was possessed by aliens when he began thinking that this was a very homey setting.

"Where's Ron and Harry, Head Girl?"

Hermione told Hagrid briefly about Harry and Ginny buying a house and looking after Teddy. Then her expression turned sour.

"_Ronald_"—the single name contained an ocean of hate, causing Draco to flinch—"thinks that he does not need to study. He is already fulfilling his destiny as the media's favourite son and resident gossip-monger."

"He gave an interview to Witches' Weekly," Draco supplied. "What kind of self-respecting male does that? Is he gay?"

Hagrid's guffaws shook the cottage.

"There's an article on you in this month's issue. You're featured as the—get this—Prince of Darkness. In all fairness, they say you toyed with the dark side for a while, which—quote—adds to the charismatic sex appeal."

Draco blushed?

"Why are they stopping Quidditch, Hagrid?" Was Draco changing the topic?

"Well, Professor McGonagall reckons the matches hav always bin betwin four Houses. Nobody even got sorted in yer House this year, so she wants ter wait for next year."

"Oh," said Draco. "That's actually quite nice of her."

"We would love to stay, Hagrid, but there's tons of homework. We still have to do your essay on the Sphinx's intellectual restrictions."

"Why, of course. Off yer go, then."

They said good-bye to Hagrid and walked back up to the castle, where Zacharias was standing in front of the almost empty emerald hour-glass. "Well, well. If it isn't the Death-Eater Smelly-fart and his beaver!"

Hermione turned to drag Draco away again, but Draco took a stand. "I, Zacharias, am an _ex_-Death Eater. And if _you_ didn't notice, let me tell you that my fellow School Head here lost her braces and large front-teeth four years ago. Now surd off before I take off points from Hufflepuff for bad-mouthing authority despite warning."

"Why you arrogant little motherf—!"

"Twenty points from Hufflepuff," said Draco coolly. "Thank Merlin I can't knock any more off."

With that, Draco strode off.

Hermione caught up with him before he could disappear in his dorm. Without warning, she jumped and him and hugged him so tightly the poor man had trouble breathing.

Taking pity on the choking man, Hermione shifted back. "Your cheeks look prettier when colored."

"Wha—? I…I don't blush, idiot."

"Sure," Hermione retorted as she rolled her eyes. "And Draco? I'm proud of you."

He gazed intently into her eyes, trying to find out if she was lying, but she met his gaze without flinching.

Then she smirked as Draco's eyes filled.

"I missed the waterworks."

"Shit. Shit. Shit. _Shit_. _**Shit.**_" Draco was trying to wipe his tears on the upholstery.

"If you're that desperate, scurry off to the bathroom. Don't shit in your pants. But first," Hermione put up a hand when Draco let out a cry of frustration. "Bring me both your medi-potions."

"Why?"

"Trust me."

Draco brought out his Calming Drought and the Anti-Depressant Draft, and handed them to the Head Girl.

Who threw them in the cackling fire, saying, "You don't need them."

In the light from the suddenly purple flame, Draco grinned.

_**AUTHOR'S NOTE: -How's this one? The entire story is loosely based on the song 'You're not alone' by Michael Jackson, for those who haven't guessed yet. And can anyone tell me how to get a copyright patent for one of my original works? Thank you to all the people who are making me their favorite author, or YANA their favorite story. I never opened my gmail account before this. Now, I practically live on it :) If you have ever read any of my stories, please go to my profile. There's a letter for you. Thank you.**_


	7. Chapter 7

_**CHAPTER 7- WINTER HOLIDAY HORROR**_

Hermione sighed as she finally finished her Potions essay. She had developed a crick in the neck, writing like that! Anyway, why was a winter holiday called so if it was only a method of torture by obscene amounts of studies?

Despite what anyone might tell you, even Hermione Granger loved to have a break between continuous studying schedules. Now, thanks to Slughorn, she had spent the entire afternoon on the essay, and forfeited her nap.

Damn him.

But…She was all alone in the house. Since her parents were in Dijon, nobody was going to notice if she fell asleep in the evening. Alas! The _Evening Prophet_ arrived, and her little happy bubble popped. After all, she had to feed Crookshanks—who was currently following the poor owl—and start dinner.

She sighed as she set about her tasks, feeling a little lonely. Harry and Ginny were in too busy with the moving and shifting, and with Teddy's upbringing, that they hardly had time to sit and drink a cup of tea. Ron…had disappeared off the face of her world.

And appeared in someone else's!

Hermione glared at the photo on the second page of the _Prophet_. It was a particularly grainy photo of Ron, who was kissing a busty, leggy blonde with apparent enthusiasm, and little expertise. The headlines said: _Who's that girl?_

Eyes already brimming, Hermione read the accompanying article.

_**WHO'S THAT GIRL?**_

_Ronald Weasley, one of the trio who vanquished Lord Voldemort, seems to have a particularly varied taste in women. The wizarding world's hottest new celebrity was seen partying in the Devil's Den late last night with a blonde (see photo) who is, as of yet, unnamed._

_Ronald Weasley was once associated with Harry Potter's other best friend, Hermione Granger (inset). Granger (18) has returned to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to complete her education. Sources confirm she aspires to be a Healer._

_When asked what caused him to jump from a plain-looking nerdy girl to the beautiful women in his arms, whom he refused to name, Weasley had this to say, "We (Granger and him) were never anything other than friends."_

_Stories about Weasley and Granger started doing the rounds after the end of the Battle of Hogwarts which marked the end of Lord Voldemort last June._

Hermione finished the article and just closed her eyes, letting the grief run its course through her. However melodramatic it was, she felt her heart break into tiny shreds. She had loved the man. She had loved Ronald Weasley with the kind of innocence only a first-time lover can show, and he hadn't even had the balls to break up with her to her face.

She stiffened as she heard a rustle of wings, and Freedom, Harry's brown owl, landed in her lap. She took the letter clamped in its beak absent-mindedly, without really thinking about it.

She couldn't really think.

The letter was written in Ginny's hand, albeit quite hastily.

_Mione,_

_Do not read or even glance at today's Evening Prophet. Says nothing of you, only __a pompous bastard I have the misfortune of being related__ Never mind. I am not in London right now. Sorry. Do you need me to come right now?_

_Ginny._

Hermione began to giggle. She had already read the article! Her entire frame wracked with laughter, and she was too shocked to notice it was hysteria. The hysterical bubbles of laughter finally started turning harsher, and more subdued.

There was some music playing in the background that seemed to reflect her mood, but she let it be as another flutter of wings announced the arrival of Purity, Draco's new owl. She was in quite a hurry, as it was. She nipped Hermione's hair and dumped the letter in her lap, then flew away.

_I am coming over, so if you have just come out of the bathroom, wear something. Thought you should know, to avoid any awkward moments._

_And no, I will not come later just because you are such a mess right now._

_-Draco._

There was a crack of sound that made her jump, and Draco appeared in her living room. He was perfectly groomed, of course, while she was wearing her carpet slippers and her nose ran.

Of course.

Draco said nothing at all. He just came over and hugged her.

"Go away! I'm a mess!"

"Do I look like I care, woman? You have held the reins on me long enough. It's my turn to help. What did you say back in September? Since you are a royal fuck-up by yourself, we will deal with it together. Understood?"

She laughed, and then the laugh suddenly turned to a sob.

At last, Hermione cried.

She cried for the loss of her only love, and at her own naivety at loving a man who only courted the press, and did not seem to understand her. She cried for the innocent love that occurs only once in a person's life, and that was shriveling dead inside her right now. She cried for her heart, that was being broken into a million pieces, and each individual piece hurt like a shard of glass.

Draco dragged her to the couch and simply held the girl as she broke into his arms. She needed him to be here. He was her friend, and she needed a shoulder to cry on right now. But by Merlin, how could a man be so tactlessly oblivious to another's pain? How could Weasley even do this to his childhood friend, let alone his girlfriend? Blatantly flaunting a bimbo in front of her, and then saying there was never anything special between them?

The nerve of the man! He would love to just tie him to a tree in the Forbidden Forest and leave him to his fate.

"I'm so scared, Draco," came Hermione's muffled voice from the vicinity of Draco's now ruined collar. "What if there is something really wrong with me? What if he isn't wrong? The press is right: I am a plain-looking nerd. Issomething wrong with _me?_"

Draco looked down into those prettily wet eyes. And spoke only what he knew to be the truth. "You, Hermione Granger, have untamable hair, and an affinity to books that can drive a man crazy. You are also a very beautiful woman. You have extremely pretty eyes, and a heart of gold. To me, Hermione, you are extremely beautiful, because you believe in second chances, and help a friend with every fiber of your being. You're fiercely protective of anyone who is even a remote friend. I find you very beautiful, when you pout at your Potions essay, but do it any way, because it has to be done. I find that you fell in love with a man who has a shallow heart, and wants importance in life. Frankly, he never deserved you."

She gazed at him intently, trying to catch the tell-tale flicker in his eyes that would mean he lied, but found none. "I—"

"Come on, Hermione. Up you get. Where's your bedroom?"

She was still looking at him. "You're not lying?"

"Nope. Here," he steered her into the master-bedroom by mistake, but she couldn't find the energy to correct him. "Drink this, Hermione, and sleep." He handed her a vial of what she was sure was the Draft of Dreamless Sleep, and then tucked her in like a six-year-old with a fever.

She gulped the Potion down eagerly, willing to escape the phantom pain in her heart for a few hours. Then she slept.

Draco changed Crookshanks' water, locked the doors behind him, and left after turning up the soothing music, satisfied by a job well done. He had stood for a friend who had stood by him.

Hermione slept, and even in her sleep, she heard the song playing in the living room.

_Everyday I sit and ask myself  
How did love slip away  
Something whispers in my ear and says  
That you are not alone  
For I am here with you  
Though you're far away  
I am here to stay_

But you are not alone  
For I am here with you  
Though we're far apart  
You're always in my heart  
But you are not alone

'Lone, 'lone  
Why, 'lone

And she slept, knowing her friend was there for her.

_**AUTHOR'S NOTE :- Hugs and kisses to all my reviewers! Thank you! Muah-muwaah...(kiss, kiss). I just read Kiaa's review, and it made me write down two chapters! Talk about motivation! Well, it also made me wonder I never thank you lot. Once again, remember, there is a letter for all my readers on my profile. Wait patiently for the next chapter, folks. I am working on two chapters a day already.**_


	8. Chapter 8

_**Author's Note**__**: - I am sorry Kiaa, my sweet, sweet reviewer. I took your name and used it for an elf! I'm so sorry if you don't like this. But she was so cute…and I think you're very cute too. And…guys? Thanks for the entire platoon of reviews I am getting. I seriously cannot reply to all of you. Know what I did? I copied all the reviews into a picture document, and made it my desktop! Immense amount of motivation, you know?**_

_**Anyways, if you hate me, Kiaa, tell me in a review. I love them :D**_

_**Seriously. I will change the name if you think it's gross.**_

_**CHAPTER 8- DRUNK**_

Draco apparated home, and grinned when he saw he had scared one of his mother's peacocks.

Then it struck him that he was late for dinner.

"I'm sorry," he muttered as he took his place on the table. "Had an emergency." Then he mentally kicked himself as it dawned on him what it would mean for his father.

Lucius Malfoy jerked, and his spoon clattered onto the plate. He turned his hollowed-in eyes, so uncannily like his son's, to the boy. "What? What is wrong?"

"Nothing father. I'm sorry," said Draco. "Wrong choice of words, you know."

"Where were you?" Narcissa asked.

"Did you read the Prophet this evening? Hermione's _boyfriend_"—the word was a sneer—"dumped her in an interview, the stinking son of a—"

"Draco! Please do not swear on the dining table."

"Sorry mother. This casserole is nice. You make it?"

"Uh-uh," said Narcissa as she shook her head. "Kiaa did it. I bet she can give any professional cook a run for their money."

Draco smiled as he thought of his fore-fathers spinning in their graves if they heard the dash of pride in Narcissa's voice for a house-elf. He turned as the house-elf in question—a elfkin really—scurried out the kitchen with a basket of rolls.

The huge blue eyes almost filled the head, the big bat-like ears twitching. Draco noticed that she was wearing what looked like a pink Roman toga. It was one of the three pieces of clothes they had given him.

"Thank-you, Kiaa. The casserole is good." Draco smiled when she blushed scarlet. He was pretty sure the tiny thing had a crush on him. Anyhow, she was the cutest elf he had ever seen.

He laughed uproariously when she ran away.

Since he was still snickering, he did not notice the look of relief in his parents' eyes. He did not realize, but he hadn't laughed like that since a few months before the War.

They refrained from commenting on that fact. He then excused himself to go upstairs and retire early, for he had been doing his blasted Charms essay all day.

They played a little poker in the parlor after that—of course Draco won spectacularly, it was a given. He then excused himself to go upstairs and retire early, for he had been doing his blasted Charms essay all day.

Narcissa then commented knowingly about his still-wet robes.

"Hermione cried on me," he replied curtly with such an over-protective glare that Malfoy felt really scared for the youngest Weasley male. Heaven prevent a meeting between him and his son.

"Draco?" Narcissa had something to ask again. "Are you gay?"

Lucius laughed as Draco let out a cry of outrage. "Why? Can't she be my friend? Don't defile one of the nicest things in my life, mother. _Please!_"

With that, Draco strode to him room, making sure he banged the door hard enough to awaken skeletons.

Just as he was taking off the wet robe, there was a knock on his bedroom door.

"Come on in."

Kiaa ran in, tripping over her heels as she saw Draco's naked torso. His suspicions were confirmed as she bubbled around. After all, she was only six. She was entitled.

"Purity brought this letter for you, Master Draco." She said at last, very importantly, handing him a damp piece of parchment.

The scrawled handwriting was difficult to read, as the ink had run in a few places.

_I can't __ I don't want to stay alone in this empty house, Draco. I am going to get myself drunk in the Hog's Head. __Care to join me? __Will you please come and take me home in the morning? I mean, I shouldn't apparate after the amount of alcohol I am planning to consume._

_So, please get me from the Hog's Head in the morning._

—_Hermione._

Draco jumped up with an oath and put on a fresh robe, while sprinting out to the front garden. Once out of the range of the protective wards around the house, he apparated directly to a stinking alley near the Hog's Head. Stupid, stupid girl! This was a not a safe locale for young women like her. Getting drunk, his ass. He was taking her home, and using Impediment Jinx to keep her there if he had to.

The trouble was, he hadn't anticipated her to be drunk already. He took a good look at her, the wonderfully tumbled hair, the glowing face, and the vague and glassy look of her eyes.

"You think I'm sexy, Draco?"

"I want to talk to you."

"Maybe I don't want to talk to you," she responded, trying to enunciate each word instead of slurring them together.

"We need to work this out if we're going to… never mind. You're drunk. Let's get you home." He steered her towards the door, but she resisted weakly.

"I'm only half drunk, which is completely my business and my right, but I've no cause for concern as you, who is not in any way drunk, is taking me home."

"It takes countless butterbeersbeers or an entire bottle of firewhiskey to get someone completely drunk."

"That seems to be correct, and in this case it was two glasses of firewhiskey. I guess I'm a hopeless drunk too. Oops, here we go."

Hermione wheezed in a breath when they reappeared in her parents' front lawn. "Now that we've established that I'm a hopeless drunk, I'll remind you I'm only half drunk. Come in and take advantage of me."

"_**What?**_"

Draco did not hear her snicker, because he was busy scraping his jaw off the ground.

"I said, come in and take advantage of me. That's what happens in the movies, right? And _I_ think you're sexy. All that Quidditch gave you nice muscles."

He let out what might've been a laugh and decided the best place for his hands—well, not the best but the smartest—was his pockets. "That's a delightful invitation, sweetie, but…

He should've walked away. He should've found the moral fortitude to walk away from a willing woman when that willing woman's inhibitions had been erased by alcohol.

And what was he, a saint?

"I gotta go." He refined his rejection when he saw her mouth pucker up. "No, wait. Don't cry. It's… I can't defile something so pure and perfect in my life, Hermione. I am sorry, I can't. And if I did, you would hate me in the morning. So would I. Good night."

With that, he left her standing on the threshold of her house and apparated.

_**AUTHOR's NOTE :- Isn't Draco a real gentleman? I am so in love with him :) Anyway, please review and tell me how this was. And who wants to bet that Ron wouldn't have stopped himself in similar conditions? Anyone? Come on, I wanna be rich!**_

_**Are you asking why the Malfoys treat Kiaa so wonderfully? Well, they were treated like disposable creatures by Voldemort. Their nature towards 'other creatures' will never be the same again. **_


	9. Chapter 9

_**Author's Note: - I am an eighteen-year-old Indian girl who has never drank any alcoholic beverage. Or had a heart-break, for that matter (yay for me!). So please tell me if there's something wrong in the description of Hermione's hangover. I have read a lot on the topic, mostly from Nora Roberts (I'm a big fan. Correction: I'm an enormous fan) so as to feel confident enough to write it.**_

_**By the way, the climax is here.**_

_**Thought you should know.**_

_**CHAPTER 9- KIDNAPPED!**_

Hermione woke with a hangover that rang like cathedral bells. She was face-down on a bed—her bed?—while the strains of the song she had neglected to turn off last night rang in her head.

She had aspirin. Probably. Somewhere. Oh, if only there was a merciful God who would remind her where the hell she'd stashed the bottle of Advil. She'd crawl to it himself, if only she knew where to drag her poor, abused body.

And why hadn't she pulled the shades? Why couldn't that merciful God turn down the sunlight so it wasn't blasting like a red furnace against her aching eyes?

Because she'd worshipped the god of whiskey, that's why. She'd broken a commandment and worshipped the false and foamy god of whiskey. And now she was being punished.

She thought the aspirin, which now took on the weight of her salvation, was most likely in the kitchen. She prayed it was as she covered her eyes with one hand, eased herself out of bed. Her moan was heartfelt, and turned into something more like a scream when she tripped over her shoes and fell flat on her face.

She barely had the strength to whimper, much less swear.

She made it to her hands and knees, balanced there, prayed there until she got most of her breath back.

She managed to get to her feet, while her banging head spun and her stomach churned.

Was she going to puke?

Hermione yelped like a kicked puppy when there was insistent knocking on her bedroom door.

Then shrieked outright, clutching her squalling head as Draco strode in.

"Drink," he rasped in an odd voice, then promptly poured a potion down her throat.

"Urgh… Will you just—?"

She spluttered to a halt when her mind cleared and she saw the look on his face.

The look was back. Draco looked half-crazy, his hair horribly tousled, and his face sweaty. His pupils were a little dilated, and his eyes darted around her room, settling on nothing.

"What—Draco, what's wrong?"

"They—they took him. I wasn't there. They took my father away. Took him. I wasn't there. I should have been at home for him. For them! Oh Merlin…"

Draco's eyes snapped back into sharp focus as Hermione reached over and slapped him. He needed that. At last Draco seemed to notice her presence, and hugged her tightly. "Hermione."

"Sit Draco," she said. "_Sit down_."

He sat, tense and taut, and gazed at her. His own mind was fried and useless, but Hermione would help.

She always helped.

"Tell me what you can. In intelligible sentences, and very coherently. What happened when you reached home?"

"Kiaa ran out of the Manor, shrieking about Death Eaters. They come and took him away, Hermione. I should have—"

"You didn't know," she snapped. "When did it happen?"

"Two… hours? I think it has been two hours. Yes. The—the sun is up. It must be morning."

"_Draco! Now_ you tell me?"

"Mum. I had to…Mum's hurt, Hermione. They hurt my mother. She…I took her to St. Mungo's. Kiaa's with her… Kiaa will help her. I need to find him. I need to find my father. Daddy," he sobbed. "They took my daddy."

It took the best part of an hour to calm Draco, and a full goblet of Calming Drought. Then he became coherent enough to speak.

"We can't find them. Him. Can't track apparition," he lamented.

"Tell me again. Details, Draco," she touched his cheek. "We need the details."

"Kiaa said they told Dad that he could start being useful to the Dark Lord now, having a nice amount of magic to spare."

"The Dark Lord? How could anyone 'be useful' to the Dark Lord now? He's dead."

"I know," Draco wailed. "We're stumped, aren't we?" He was beginning to hyperventilate again. "They will kill him. They will kill my Dad."

"Wait," Hermione held up a hand. "Do you remember the piece of news last week where Crabbe was arrested by Ministry officials because he was trying to resurrect Lord Voldemort?"

"He's a loon! He totally flipped after his son died in that fire…" The color left Draco's face as he understood. "You think they are trying to resurrect Voldemort?" His voice was cracking horribly, and he looked that he was somehow holding on to a sliver of sanity. "No magic can resurrect the dead."

"I know. And that's a good thing. But… the Death Eaters are half-mad with the world nowadays…They're hardly sane…"

"But… what's my father got to do with it? With any of it?"

"Draco," muttered Hermione as she rubbed his arm. "All Dark magicks require repayment. A sacrifice, to seal a fate. It's necessary to have a sacrifice for any kind of magic. We risk our own health, and our power. Dark wizards put some one else on the stake."

"They're going to _sacrifice_ my father?" Draco looked like an Inferius, talking because he had to, while his face looked pasty. He rubbed his arms, which felt completely chilled, and licked his lips.

"Listen here, Draco," Hermione stood up from her place on the carpet and took his face in her hands. "Will you really just sit and worry like a sub-urban housewife? Be a man, Draco. Don't let them get away with this. Your father doesn't need your worry. He needs your help. He needs you to stay focused."

The grey eyes slowly turned stone-cold and flat, all the useless feelings locked away in the back of his mind. He would examine them when he could afford it. Right now, he needed to act.

"I have to find him."

"We," Hermione corrected softly. She was proud of him. "We have to find him."

They was silence in the room, other than the strains of music from the living room.

_For you are not alone_

_For I am here with you_

_Though we're far apart_

_You're always in my heart_

_For you are not alone_

_**Author's Note: - Please please please PLEASE review! I love 'em so so so much, and even though I'm obscenely lazy and take forever to respond (at least I update, right? I have no internet privileges), I read them all and even squeal and dance for each one. Yes, each one. It's very good exercise. What do you think? Will Draco and Hermione be able to find where the Death Eaters have taken Lucius?**_


	10. Chapter 10

_**Author's Note**__**: - Holy shit! I am swamped and drowning in reviews (according to me. Seriously, takes little to make me happy)! Don't slack off! Who needs breathing anyway?**_

_**I should have researched extensively for this chapter, and I had already written so down in my little blue diary, but then I thought, why insult somebody's religious beliefs? He might not give me a review! So, I made it all up on my own. Sorry if it matches anybody's beliefs and/or hurts them. I don't mean to.**_

_**CHAPTER 10- THE SEARCH**_

"Stop fidgeting and read, Draco."

"Remind me again why we're doing this?" Draco rubbed his gritty eyes, then refocused his bleeding eyes back on page seventy-eight of _Voodoo methods of calling the dead._

"How, what and where," she replied briskly. "We know _how_ they're trying to do, then we know _what_ they need to do it, then we know _where_ they find what they need."

"But… But it's been TWO DAYS!" Draco scrambled to his feet from where they had both been sitting on the floor of the Malfoy Library. "They could have murdered him by now, killed him. Mutilated my father…or worse. This is too much to bear, Hermione. Too much to _think_ about! I don't want to _bloody_ speculate on my father's goddamn living choice while read shagging books."

"You have a better idea?" Hermione's eyes were wet as she witnessed the anguish, the misery worth a hundred years, etched on his face. It was horrible to watch.

"No," he muttered, sitting down again. "No, I don't. But… sitting here like this feels impotent. I wish there was some sort of book I would ask a question and it would answer, you know. That would help. Even some sort of index."

"THAT'S IT!"

"What? What did you—?"

"The Internet, you dumbshit! We can check the internet!"

"Huh?" Draco was scratching his head, but Hermione was too busy to notice. She was rummaging in her over-night bag muttering to herself about 'muggle money' and 'Cyber Café'.

"Draco? Come here. I am going to check on the Inter—er…on something, and I need you to take this." She handed him her brand-new mobile phone. "I'll call you on this when I find something, and you just need to press this button here…" she showed him the receive button—"to talk to me. I will hear you, and you will easily hear me if you hold it like this, against your ear. Okay?"

"I guess." Draco looked totally unsure. "You can—" he started to say, but Hermione had already fled.

She ran to the nearest Cyber Café, forgetting she could apparate, almost skidding on the slick side-walk. It was horribly cold, and she had forgotten to wear her coat, but she was sweating by the time she slid into a booth.

_Black magic human resurrection methods using human sacrifice or magical sacrifice_, she typed into Google.

"Come on, come on… please." Did search engines always take that much time?

There were 1143 matches.

Maybe it was not as easy as she had thought.

Hermione ordered her mind to start thinking as she skimmed through the links the search engine had found for her, and rejected about three hundred of the later matches.

After about half an hour, she whooped enthusiastically.

She almost forgot to pay her bill, and literally skipped to the nearest telephone booth.

She prayed Draco would remember her instructions and pick up.

"Hello?" Draco's voice was soft, and unsure.

"Listen, Draco. Find every book you have relating Egyptian dark magic resurrection methods. We will start from the Egyptian ones. It's most probable. I'm coming home."

"Apparate."

"What?"

"Are you a witch or what? I said _apparate_."

She did, and hurried inside through the garden, startling a peacock with her jubilant speed.

The exuberance didn't even last till dinner.

They looked through thirteen books, peeling their eyes for any kind of magic that the Death Eaters could use.

And came up with sixty-eight probables.

"_NOW WHAT?_"

Kiaa, who was helping them, jumped.

"We find what is the most common in all of these," replied Hermione, indicating the mess of parchments and book-pages that were scattered around them. She knew Draco didn't understand her plan, but as she looked at that two-day worth of stubble and those taut eyes, she was sure he would do what it took.

"Trust me on this Draco. Please," she whispered.

He gave a wry smile. It looked more like a grimace. "Do I have a choice?"

They sat and compared notes, forgetting that they had not eaten since morning, or that they had developed kinks in every muscle of their body.

At last Hermione sighed. "That's the last of them. Now, Draco, I need you to close your eyes."

"What?"

"Your eyes, Draco. Shut them. Good," she said when he obeyed. "Okay, Kiaa. What do we have so far?"

Kiaa looked down at the notes they had dictated to her. "Sacrifice of powerful wizard magic by bleeding said wizard to death"—Draco jerked—"using the magical blood for the new blood of the wizard about to be resurrected; using a part of the body of resurrectee's sire to call the soul back; the altar in a temple, or a place that has seen powerful magic; the full moon is the night of Dark magic, strengthening the magic, and making the resurrected sorcerer more powerful."

"Draco?" Hermione turned back to him. "Don't open your eyes. You know the death eaters, and you know Voldemort. Do you think they are doing something like this?"

"Yes."

"Good. Now open your eyes. Where do you think they will find all this?"

They thought for sometime, and jerked when Kiaa came up with an extremely plausible answer.

"The Riddle Manor?"

"_YES!_" Draco jumped on the tiny elf, kissing her broad forehead, which made her squeak. "Thanks, Kiaa! He's in the Riddle Manor," he told Hermione. "It fits. Now what?"

"Now we take all this to Professor McGonagall."

"Are you absolutely sure, Miss Granger?" Snape's portrait asked in a thoughtful voice.

"No, sir," she replied truthfully. "But it's our best guess. Most of the _supposedly_ successful resurrection methods originate in Egypt. We jotted down the common points of the different methods, and…Riddle Manor is our best bet."

"Minerva? Help Lucius," Dumbledore said softly. "They are right. It's the best bet. The altar in a place that has seen powerful magic…" he trailed off.

"It's decided then. I'll contact the members of the Order."

"You'll help?" Draco's voice was incredulous, and hopeful.

"Bet that excellent ass they will," replied the Sorting Hat from it's perch.

_**Author's Note: - **__**I was extremely scared this chapter would turn out all wrong. Well, here it is. Do you think it turned out all wrong? Please tell me if you do! Am I not going too fast? I love my speed…he he. Let's knock on a lot of wood it stays that way. ;P **_


	11. Chapter 11

_**Author's Note**__**: - err…I got nothing to say. Read on, don't mind me. I'm crazy.**_

_**DISCLAIMER: J.K. Rowling= Owner of HP + Rich + Famous +Amazing = Not me. **_

_**CHAPTER 11- SEIGE**_

"Where the fucking hell is everybody? When will they come? It's _bloody_ midnight!"

"Draco," Hermione muttered admonishingly. "They're coming. Shh, now. And please come in and eat your dinner. Kiaa is right. You will have no energy to fight if you go on like this!"

"I am freaking BURSTING with energy!"

Hermione's patience was at its bursting point, but she heard the pops near the gates, and seeing people appearing, refrained from comment.

A lot of people where there to help Draco. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Bill, Fleur, Charlie, Percy, George, Harry, and Ginny gathered around her, while the Minister, Kingsley Shacklebolt, stood separately with McGonagall, Madam Sprout, and Hagrid.

Ron was nowhere to be seen.

"He had some work in Diagon Alley," Harry whispered in Hermione's ear. "He—"

"—Thought he had better things to do than save Lucius Malfoy, and I quote, 'whose son Hermione is currently banging on the side'." This heart-breaking truth came from Ginny, who looked seriously murderous.

"Let's go and check out the Riddle Manor, people! Remember, we observe, and then attack. Please don't be too Griffindorish and jump into the battlefield, okay?"

"OKAY!"

They apparated to a spot they had decided on the previous day, when they had checked in to find some activity going on in the Riddle Manor. The spot was perfect, because it was a raised mound directly facing the Manor, and providing a good view of the attached grounds. The windows were charmed not to a show a thing, which had first struck them as odd and then confirmed their suspicions.

"That's Rodolphus Lestrange," muttered Draco unnecessarily in my ear as a wizard came out of the Manor into the grounds. I remembered Bellatrix's husband from our escapade in the Ministry three years ago.

"He's wanted by the Ministry, ain't he?" George asked. "So what are we doing hiding in bushes when we should be busting the bastard's balls?"

"Mr. Weasley, we are trying to see how many Death Eaters there are."

"By sitting in bushes? And don't call me that, _Maggie._"

"Don't you dare—!"

"Oh, but I will, Maggie."

Hermione turned to tell George to cut it out, but she was struck speechless when she saw his face contort with a kind of anguished rage. It was horrible to watch, so she turned to see what he was looking at.

Rookwood.

Rookwood was standing idly in the verandah of the Manor, lighting a cigarette.

Rookwood, the man whose curse had killed his twin, and a part of him.

With a battle-cry full of rage and hatred, George ran down the tiny hill we were sitting on before either of them could stop him. They ran after him, afraid Rookwood would kill him. Afraid _he_ would _kill_ Rookwood.

There were flashes of red and green light in front of them, which made them run faster. Rookwood lay on the cobbled verandah floor, his eyes closed. Fred's twin stood towering over him, his breath heaving from his sprint down the hillock.

"Fred wouldn't have wanted me to kill the bastard," he panted. "Cause then I wouldn't be able to meet him in heaven."

Maggie—oops, Professor McGonagall—made a very odd gesture by hugging the grieving man. He looked shocked for a minute, then whispered a _thank-you_ in her ear. It was enough.

"We caught him off-guard," Bill noticed. "Was he a look-out?"

"Horrible one, if you're asking me." Ginny murmured. She kicked the stupefied man in the stomach, and Percy 'accidently' stumbled over him.

"They weren't expecting us—or anyone—to figure it out. To come looking," Draco said almost to himself. "Cocky sons of a—"

"Someone's coming," Kingsley muttered.

Sure enough, the verandah was crowded by Death Eaters, their masks absent, their expressions surprised yet set, their wands at the ready. They were an almost pitiful group of crazy lunatics, hardly ten in number, and Rodolphus Lestrange led the charge.

Each group stared at the other, waiting, silently watching. Then Alecto, the crazy bitch, grinned at Draco. "Asking the Ministry to rescue your back-stabbing father, Draco? The matters of the Death-Eaters are best solved away from the Ministry. Your father is honored to be—"

"Fuck you!" Draco spat at her, his wand arm twitching with a kind of anticipation. "Where is my father?"

"_Where is my father?_" the witch mimicked. She cackled wildly, which made the hair at the back of his neck stand up. "Alive, Draco. At least till the full moon."

Draco spat at the ground in distaste. The two groups glared at each other, waiting…

At some untold signal, wands were raised.

It began.

_**Author's Note: - A cliffe! I know I'm evil. Don't bother wasting your breath on such trifling matters. Bow before me, you mere mortals…*evil laugh* Muhaaaw ha ha ha**_

_**Seriously.**_

_**Anyways, I had continued the fight in the chapter, but it became quite long. So… sorry.**_


	12. Chapter 12

_**AUTHOR'S NOTE: - WAIT!  
PUT AWAY THOSE TORCHES! GET RID OF THOSE PITCHFORKS!  
I'M HERE, I'M HERE!  
And I'm SORRY! Please don't eat me. *pathetic whimper*  
Though, because I did not update earlier, I permit you to keep the voodoo dolls you made of me. If it helps, I'm tall with dark hair.  
HA! THAT MEANS I COULD BE ANYONE!  
Oh, I'm a sneaky one.  
**_

_**Good Heavens! It just struck me! I'm actually writing a novel! Hurrah for me! (Yes, my sanity is perfectly fine. Thank you very much for asking *glares*)**_

_**You know what is mean? Me keeping you up here at this author's note while you could be down there, reading this (wonderful, awesome, out-of-this-world) suspense-filled fanfic.  
And I, my friends, am not mean.**_

_**CHAPTER 10- THE FIGHT…AND AFTER**_

Curses flew through the air, deadly and poised to kill, while the Order deftly threw Stunning spells.

The night was suddenly alive with the bright and deadly colors of the spells cast with the accuracy necessary to kill. The Death Eaters were panicking, since they were out-numbered, and that turned them even more deadly.

Draco stood stunned for a minute, surprised that the Order would fight for the life of a convicted Death-Eater, but then moved to action as Amycus aimed his wand at Hermione's back, who didn't notice, as she was fighting off curses by Alecto.

"NO!"

"Get down!" Harry shouted, as more curses flew through the night: He and Draco had both grabbed Hermione and pulled her to the floor, then they were forced to roll as a herd of galloping tree-trunks thundered past, shepherded by a sprinting Professor McGonagall. She appeared not to notice them. Her hair had come down and there was a gash on her cheek. As they turned to see if each of the others was alright, they heard her scream, "CHARGE!"

Death Eaters were everywhere Harry looked: Yaxley, close to the doors of the Manor, in combat with Flitwick, a masked Death Eater dueling Kingsley right beside them. Ginny was helping McGonagall fight against Rodolphus, who was deftly shielding off their spells, yelling, "_You_ cannot stop the Dark Lord from coming back! _He will come back_ and he will show the world the correct way of living—without filth under our noses all the time—"

Harry shot an _Expelliarmus_ at his back, caught his wand as it flew towards him, and broke it in two. Then he felt the breath whoosh out of his lungs as Malfoy landed on top of him. "What the—?"

"Killing Curse," Draco yelled in his ear. "Just repaying my life-debt." He stood up, then sprinted up to Alecto, and Stunned her before she could kill Hermione.

"Thank you!" she yelled at him, then turned to assist Fleur, who was fending off Yaxley.

Draco looked at the entire scene once. They were definitely winning. Only Rodolphus—who Draco was starting to suspect was crazier than his wife—stood there, deflecting the curses shot at him. Yaxley, Amycus and the hooded Death Eater tried to help him.

He saw the streak—a spell—coming towards him. He shifted to the left, panicking, and his eyes wide.

A searing pain rode up his right shoulder, and Draco felt or heard no more.

"It's been more than three hours," Hermione said.

"It's morning! He…is he alright?" Ginny was biting her lip, while Harry patted her shoulder.

"_YES!_" Madam Pomfrey was getting quite irritated by the pestering and the questions that were being asked nineteen to a dozen. "He's simply sleeping…his body can only take up so much abuse. So it's protecting itself by shutting down. The poor boy let himself waste these past three days. But its fine now, we—OH NO YOU DON'T! _Park your ass back in that bloody bed, Lucius Hewtonius Malfoy, or I'm gonna make you!_"

Lucius, who had simply swung his leg off the bed, climbed back again with. "But…Poppy, I need to use the bathroom."

She huffed, then waved her hand in permission.

Teddy, who was getting bored watching a sleeping man in a white bed, promptly sat up on said sleeping man's stomach, and said something which sounded like, "Goo gagee gati…_choo_!"

"What's he doing?" Fred whispered in Harry's ear.

"Err…practicing troll?"

Draco moaned once, and the room felt silent.

_**DRACO'S POV: -**_

Sunlight streamed through the window, hitting my face at just the perfect angle. I frowned. Stupid sun. I was so comfortable, too. I gave up on trying to go back to sleep and opened my eyes, looking around. My various co-fighters had made themselves at home, they were sprawled all around my bed, staring at my face.

Mum stood next to me, silently anxious.

I let my eyes roam around. Finally, they landed on the bed next to me, and my eyes grew, and I sat up too fast.

"_**DAD!**_"

"Drake? Are you alright? You've been out for nearly—_oof_!"

The rest of his statement drowned as I jumped on him, effectively breaking something or the other in him.

But I didn't care.

His face was a little battered, one of his eyes black under a green salve, and his hair looked shorn. In fact, he looked like a battered housewife of an abusive alcoholic.

But I didn't care.

My Mum looked sick and old, her face a criss-cross of worry lines. Her knuckles were white where she gripped the bedpost, and her other hand was twitching nervously.

But I didn't care.

We had won!

He was fine.

Just dandy.

_**AUTHOR'S NOTE: - WAIT! It's not over yet! One epilogue to go people! !**_

_**I really need to tell you people something. It's hilarious. Both my parents are sleeping beside me, it's the middle of the night, and I have put a blanket over me and my PC (yes, it's not a laptop and yes, my computer is in my parents' room) to write. Reminds me of Harry and his homework in POA.**_

_**Imagine what would happen if my mum woke up?**_


	13. Epilogue

_**AUTHOR'S NOTE: - I'm getting Internet connection tomorrow! YIPEE!**_

_**Well, I'm done. Onwards with the story.**_

_**DISCLAIMER: Draco is blonde. Luna is blonde. Lucius is blonde. Jo is blonde. astha22 is not blonde.**_

_**You do the math.**_

_**EPILOGUE: - REJOICE DANCE **_

_**HERMIONE'S POV: -**_

It's final. The world has officially ended. Dumbledore resurrected and shagged McGonagall. Voldemort resurrected and kissed a muggle. Rodolphus snapped his wand in half and proclaimed his desire to become a Buddhist Monk. Snape resurrected and washed his hair and dyed it hot pink. THE WORLD HAS GONE ABSOLUTELY WONKY.

And Harry became _FRIENDS_ with Draco Malfoy.

Yes, the all caps were necessary.

And now I might be in love with him.

Of course not Harry, you idiot. Stop hyperventilating. I meant Draco.

And I don't care.

He asked me out.

Well, he asked me to the Rejoice Ball in the Great Hall, but you know what I mean.

"Hermione!"

I groaned and buried my head under my blanket as Ginny started jumping on my bed.

"Five more minutes." I muttered, pulling on it so that she slid off.

"No way, Granger! You have to get up now! You've got a date with Draco Malfoy in two hours!"

I sat up. "WHAT? TWO HOURS! GINNY, WHY DIDN'T YOU WAKE ME BEFORE?"

She raised her eyebrow at me, looking amused. "You still want to sleep for five more minutes?"

"Move!" I commanded, leaping out of my bed and barreling into my and Draco' bathroom.

Which, I soon realized, he was currently occupying.

Whoops.

"Augh!" Draco yelped, quickly tying a towel around his waist. "Hermione!"

"Shit, sorry!" I cried, covering my eyes and stumbling back. "I forgot to knock."

"Hermione –"

"I mean, I should have freaking realized that you might be in here, we bloody share this thing!"

"Hermione –"

"But no, I just lose all of my manners – which, I promise you, I definitely have – and barge right in! I'm really sorry Draco, I –"

"HERMIONE!" Two large hands wrapped themselves around my wrists. "Shut up."

"Okay." I muttered weakly.

"You don't have to cover your eyes." He said softly, and he pulled my hands away. I glanced at his chest – eep! Not watching that water droplet make its way down his perfectly toned…okay, I'm stopping now – and then quickly looked up at his face. His hair was disheveled even when it was wet, the blonde strands glistening like silk as they dripped water all down his face.

I gulped. Fuck, he's gorgeous.

"Um." I whimpered.

"It's okay." He said seriously, gazing into my eyes. "you're pretty when you're flustered – WAIT! That wasn't supposed to come out, forget I said that–"

I laughed, throwing my head back. He mumbled apologetically, looking profoundly embarrassed, which I somehow found even more endearing.

"I guess this is the perfect match since we're both so awkward." I laughed, and his hand came up to nervously tousle his hair.

"Yeah. I'm sorry." He said, his cheeks burning as he gazed at the floor.

"It's okay." I touched his cheek and he looked up at me.

"Wow." I said softly, gazing into his warm eyes. "Your eyes are…they're silver."

A blonde eyebrow came up. "No way."

"I've never seen that color before." I murmured, fascinated by the kaleidoscope of colors – some grey, some blue, a little green and just a touch of purple – that swirled through his irises. "It's…mesmerizing."

"Thanks," he muttered.

"Oi, Hermione, why don't I hear the shower – oh!" Ginny's surprised voice appeared, and I sighed as Draco hastily stepped away from me.

"I'll see you soon, then?" He asked, looking anxious.

I smiled warmly at him, and he looked relieved. "Definitely."

After getting ready – courtesy of Ginny and Luna Lovegood – I stood in front of the mirror, looking nervously at my reflection.

This is so weird. I look nice. Not just nice, I look – dare I say it – pretty. Better than the Yule Ball.

"Wow, guys." I breathed, taking it in. "You did a fantastic makeover! This looks great!"

Ginny looked surprised. "But Hermione, there's hardly any make-up on you."

"What? No way." I said disbelievingly, turning back to the mirror again. The girl in front of me had glittering brown eyes that were highlighted by a touch of shimmery eye shadow, some light eyeliner, and long, thick eyelashes. Her flawless skin seemed to glow with health, and her shiny brown hair fell in loose curls down her back. The gold dress perfectly complemented her eyes and brought out curves in all the right places. The effect was completed by her legs, which seemed a mile long.

"All we did was brush your hair and put on some eyeliner, eye shadow and mascara, Hermione." Luna said. "When will you realize that you're beautiful?"

I just shook my head. "Um, wow."

"Alright." Ginny shoved me towards the door. "Get going!"

Draco stood in front of the mantle-piece in the common room, wearing a tux, whose jacket was currently gracing the back of my favorite arm-chair. The sleeves of his silky black shirt were rolled back to uncover his muscular forearms, and I gulped. Crap, I'm a sucker for forearms. Especially muscular ones. Ever since I saw this Brad Pitt movie…

Never mind.

"Hey." He said, coming towards me and taking in my appearance. "You look beautiful."

I blushed and looked down. "Thank you. You look beautiful, too."

Fuck, I did not just say that. What the heck's wrong with me?

He laughed. "Beautiful?"

I looked up at him, eyes wide and earnest. "Yeah! Guys can look beautiful, too, can't they?"

"Well, I was sort of hoping for something –"

"Beautiful." I said firmly. "You look beautiful."

He shrugged and escorted me downstairs to the Great Hall. It was fascinating, this kind of escorting thing. Romantic, if you know what I mean.

The walls of the Hall had all been covered in sparkling golden frost, with hundreds of streamers and banners crossing the starry black ceiling. The House tables had vanished; instead, there were about a hundred smaller, lantern-lit ones, each seating about a dozen people.

It was a charming scene, one I had helped put up myself, with my handsome escort.

We had fun, of course—dancing, singing, and drinking. I drank less, aware of the fact that my system went bonkers when I'm drunk (which reminds me to ask Draco what foolishness I had shown when I was drunk during the summer holidays).

It was over too soon, that heady adrenalin rush, that awesome feeling called freedom.

We walked back to the Heads' dorms in silence, thinking—dreading?—tomorrow, and the train waiting to take us away from each other.

"Hermione?" Draco called as I started to move towards my portrait.

"Yeah?" I walked back towards him, a little closer than was strictly necessary.

What? I am a normal teenage girl with normal teenage hormones. Don't judge me.

My lips were suddenly covered by his.

Holy.

Shit.

He's kissing me.

Okay. Okay. Draco Malfoy is kissing you. What do you do?

Well, I could start by kissing him back, for one. That would be good, since maybe he'll laugh off this amazing moment tomorrow. Might as well just make the most of it.

So, I wrapped my arms around his neck, my fingers linking at the back, holding his face securely to mine as I moved my mouth against his. To my immense surprise, his lips moved rhythmically with mine and his arms came to twine around my waist, drawing me closer.

But this wasn't enough.

_**DRACO'S POV: -**_

A shiver of pleasure shot down my spine, and I pulled her closer, tilting my head to the side. Her arms tightened around my neck and her tongue slipped out and pressed softly against my bottom lip.

Oh.

My.

Fucking.

God.

Okay, okay. Keep breathing, Drake. Keep breathing. Just keep your cool.

Her tongue pressed harder against my lips, and I suppressed a moan as I opened my mouth and let her tongue slide in, meeting it in the middle with my own.

She tastes like chocolate and strawberries, and…Merlin. She's intoxicating.

I'm making out with Hermione Granger. Snogging her. Intensely snogging her. And did she…? HA! She sort of whimpered! SHE'S ENJOYING THIS!

If this isn't heaven, I don't know what is.

I pulled back, gazing intently in those beautiful eyes. There was something I needed to do.

"I love you." My voice was a fierce whisper, filled with the passion we had just shared.

Her mouth opened to a surprised 'O'.

"I love you too, Drake. Merlin, I love you so bloody much!"

**"You Are Not Alone"**

Another day has gone

I'm still all alone

How could this be

You're not here with me

You never said goodbye

Someone tell me why

Did you have to go

And leave my world so cold

Everyday I sit and ask myself

How did love slip away

Something whispers in my ear and says

That you are not alone

For I am here with you

Though you're far away

I am here to stay

But you are not alone

For I am here with you

Though we're far apart

You're always in my heart

But you are not alone

'Lone, 'lone

Why, 'lone

Just the other night

I thought I heard you cry

Asking me to come

And hold you in my arms

I can hear your prayers

Your burdens I will bear

But first I need your hand

Then forever can begin

Everyday I sit and ask myself

How did love slip away

Something whispers in my ear and says

That you are not alone

For I am here with you

Though you're far away

I am here to stay

For you are not alone

For I am here with you

Though we're far apart

You're always in my heart

For you are not alone

Whisper three words and I'll come runnin'

And girl you know that I'll be there

I'll be there

You are not alone

For I am here with you

Though you're far away

I am here to stay

For you are not alone

For I am here with you

Though we're far apart

You're always in my heart

For you are not alone

For I am here with you

Though you're far away

I am here to stay

For you are not alone

For I am here with you

Though we're far apart

You're always in my heart

For you are not alone...

_**AUTHOR'S NOTE: - A 1748 word epilogue? What the heck am I high on? **_

_**Anyway, Eh? Neh? Meh? YEH! Tell me! ...Though I would appreciate if you could articulate just a bit more.**_

_**Like? Hate? Love? Feel like you have to puke? Feeling really, really hungry? I am. But, that's besides the point.**_

_**WAIT! DON'T SAY IT OUT LOUD!  
See that yellow bubble down there? It's magical. And it needs feeding.  
FEED THE MAGIC BUBBLE.  
Thank you sooooooooooooo very much :)**_

_**Psst…I'm gonna work on my original novel for a time now, so MAYBE I won't update. And, please…has anyone got an eBook of the Vampire Academy series? PLEASE CONTACT ME! I AM NOT JOKING. PLEASE?**_


	14. Chapter 14

Hi, guys. Sorry to get your hopes up, if you're really pissed about this note.

Just wanted to give you a heads-up.

Actually, all the anti-Ron reviews I got led me think of a confrontation scene between Draco and Ronald. So, I have pasted a one-shot sequel. Enjoy.

IT'S CALLED 'FACE TO FACE'.


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